


Forgiveness

by orphan_account



Category: X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Antagonism, Fight Sex, Fix-It, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-02-15
Updated: 2000-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:33:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22733365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Remy and Warren finally confront each other.
Relationships: Remy LeBeau/Warren Worthington III
Kudos: 12





	Forgiveness

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at X-Men Slash Central ([Wayback Machine link](http://free.freespeech.org/x-men/archive/o-forgiveness.html)).

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**Forgiveness  
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By O

He hadn't seen him since he'd been brought back from the Antarctic, though he'd felt him in the brittleness of the air and the uneasiness that had everybody nervy and short with each other. He'd about had it, and now Betsy was gone, too, couldn't stand feeling his mind, she said, he wasn't able to completely shield and his psyche was all bloody chaos, it was like fingernails on a blackboard in her head. Fucker. So Warren was rather surprised to find him in the darkened kitchen slouched at the table, head low between his shoulders and his feet on another chair. Red eyes flickered from the long black shadow he was among other shadows and Warren reached out for the light switch and quickly flicked it on, knowing it would be a moment's blinding pain for him. And it was; he hissed and turned from it like a vampire from the sun. Warren smiled.

Remy had never been one to pass unnoticed or avoid company, never been one to avoid a fight or hold back smart-ass remarks. Never cared who he pissed off or how much. Thus, Warren was surprised when the Cajun just stood up, long-boned shoulders weary, fingers loose on his small houndish hips and the glossy drape of his auburn hair hiding most of his downturned face.

"You got some'tin t'say t'old Remy too, flyboy?" Tight and too quiet so Warren knew some of the others had already had their words with him, suspicions and opinions spoken and warnings given. But despite his downcast slouch, there was defiance there, too, an edgy sense of limits being reached, overcome.

Warren's blood rose to the challenge, he smiled coldly. "Well," he said, "let's see... things to say to you... haven't I already said them all before? Frequently? At the risk of repeating myself, you're a traitorous amoral loser and a sleazy two-bit hood with no more business in this house than a cockroach. You're an asshole and a fuck-up, and if it wasn't for the Professor I'd be thrilled to have the signal honor of putting you out of your misery and our lives permanently. That about cover it?"

For some reason he was glad to see anger in Gambit's face when his head snapped up, eyes hot, but there was also an unsettled electricity in the air that seemed to set his nape bristling. Like friction between two powerful forces, a war between two equally potent desires. Betsy said Gambit felt like that to her, raw and vicious and dead all at the same time. Gambit's hands glowed, his eyes from under the half-lowered swing of his hair; a dangerous man, mortally deadly in so confined a space. Warren's wings lifted in response and Gambit's eyes leapt to the motion as if startled, then transfixed. The glow faded and he shook his head, one hand made a small dismissive gesture and he turned for the door.

"Pff, Remy got bet' t'ings t'do..."

A wing sliced through the air in front of his face and blocked his way, Warren didn't quite understand why he was so angry right this minute, but he was and irrationally he wanted it to escalate.

Of all the things he expected LeBeau to do, however, what he did wasn't anywhere in the ball-park. Gambit looked at the snowy feathers an inch from his aquiline nose, sighed as if giving in to something in his own mind, then closed his eyes and leaned his scruffy fine-boned cheek against them with a nuzzling stroke. The shaft of one long pinion passed with brazenly lascivious grace between his index and middle fingers in an appreciative, and purposefully infuriating, caress.

"Pretty, birdie. N' 'dey feel good, too. Like 'em better 'den th' metal ones, me." A nasty slant of a sideways grin to poke at the never-healing source of Warren's hatred.

The joint of that angelic wing contracted with unexpected speed and force into Gambit's face, staggering him back into the refrigerator so hard it rocked into the wall and back. He bent forward, hips pressed into the cold white door to keep his feet, and when he straightened, wiping his lip with the back of one hand, he wore a wolfish grin of sharp blood-streaked teeth. Alright, then, those wicked eyes said, and Warren's spine tightened, adrenalin started pumping.

"We gon' finally do 'dis, birdie?" Assuming a stance he knew pissed Warren off, weight cocked on one hip, head at a wise-ass tilt; "What you been creepin' at f'years? Finally found stones 'nuff t'try n' kick Remy's ass?" Elegant hands slid down his own narrow body invitingly, opened with an eloquently expressive shrug; "Ain' unwillin' t'have y'try..."

Demonic eyes with a deep quiet fire starting to burn. "Eh"?" Even though he was still shy at least ten pounds he couldn't afford to be without, even though the marrow of his bones still felt like crystallized ice - by now Remy had figured it'd be that way forever since it'd never gotten any better as he'd healed. Anger was almost a relief, something to focus on other than whispers and black looks and departing backs, something he could lay hands to, do violence to. He felt like he was dying slowly, and that was something he didn't want drawn out.

"Yeh, Remy be up f'dat. C'mon, 'den." Straightening, spreading his hands and his long clever fingers doing a flicking gimme curl. Red and black eyes sparked, and Warren was surprised at the Cajun's glad hunger to get it on, it was the first rise anyone had gotten out of him since he'd come back. He was ready himself, the strength of long hatred surging dark excitement into his soul.

Mighty wings opened away from the sideways outreach of Remy's hand, like he intended to pet it again and Warren snapped, "You've done as much damage here as I'm willing to allow, LeBeau, you're polluting this house, this team, these people - good people who deserve a place they can live in comfortably. I know you don't think of anyone else, but I have to live here..."

Embered eyes narrowed. Obviously Warren didn't intend that the Cajun would be living here... or perhaps just living at all - once this challenge was taken up. Remy grinned, mocking the threat carelessly; life meant very little just now, and something hunkered down in him with feral glee. He'd quit thinking, let his exhausted mind run on pure impulse toward whatever would be.

"The clearing in the woods along the lake," Warren said, not intending to give LeBeau the advantage of close-quarters battle. "Don't want any compassionate souls coming to your rescue.

"Ain't Remy's rescue you should be t'inkin', of. But hell, birdie, nice morning f'it, neh?" Although it would not be morning for another hour and was foggy and cold. "Don't really care where, mon ami. Tired o'slinkin' round. Tired t'deat' of it, me. Les' go, den."

Warren flew ahead, the long-repressed need for vengeance finally uncoiling, stretching eagerly. Gambit strolled casually across the lawn with his bo-staff spinning a slow intricate design in his hand, he let Warren get pissed off in waiting for him. Thinking bloody thoughts about the clearing Warren was headed for, what trees there were around it, what geological features he could use to his advantage. Maybe what he'd do with a bunch of white feathers when he was done; that made him grin, though he knew in a deep unacknowledged part of him that such was not his intent. He didn't care to know what was.

By the time he got there, Warren was furious and came down out of the sky like a missle right at him, Remy came off the ground and did a quick tucked spin right over the top of his wing, cracking him on the back of the head with the bo-staff with a negligent backward flip of his wrist. Only a stinging rap, what could have killed him, and that seeming disdain infuriated Warren. He spun in a whir of feathers and grappled with Gambit, for a few minutes it was pitched hand to hand, his knuckles bruising on Gambit's jaw, delirious with the pleasure of using his fists alone and striking hard again and again, rocking Gambit back on his heels. The Cajun broke away with wheeling kick that didn't do much more than gain him some distance.

Warren came back close to the ground in a rush of feather-trapped wind, took the staff on his shoulder without wondering at how obviously it was telegraphed, and he was not deflected from driving into Gambit's stomach so hard the lanky Cajun doubled over his shoulder with a pained grunt as Warren carried him with dizzying speed twenty feet up and hard back into the trunk of a giant oak. He struck it so solidly that his spine snapped straight and his skull bounced off the unforgiving wood, Warren banked safely away and let him fall, stunned, into the leafy litter below with an audible thump. God, that felt good! To just let go and do what he'd been dying to do for so long! It didn't occur to him that Gambit hadn't charged so much as a lint-ball, that he'd pulled his strikes back from lethality.

Warren swooped down just as Gambit was staggering to his feet and jammed him face-first into the wide rough bole of the oak, holding him there with one strong forearm across the back of the Cajun's wide-boned shoulders. The other fist jabbed into his right kidney with such unerring force that he felt the long legs go loose under him and he slammed his knee into the back of Remy's to keep him up, enjoying the strangled cry of true pain.

"Still think this was such a grand idea, Gambit? Still up for it, asshole?" he hissed into the cool fall of auburn hair over Remy's ear, grinding the Cajun's cheek into the bark. And just as he raised his fist again intending the Cajun to be pissing blood for a week, he felt a wash of sensation he knew from prior experience was that damnable empath power. That was not surprising, but what if felt of was. Not pain... a strange muddle of feelings tinged with a strange fatalistic relief, with... pleasure. He stilled, suddenly aware with unnatural acuity of the long sinuous body against which he was so intimately pressed.

Warren lived and was in love with a telepath, he recognized that the thoughts were not his, but he'd never had anyone else in his mind but her and it made him stop and consider what he was getting... why would Gambit find relief in having his ass kicked? Why welcome the pain, why not struggle to free himself... startlement sent a chill down his spine as he realized it was not the pain, not even the battle Gambit felt. No. It was being touched, even in anger.

Touched, that was all Remy was aware of and it was so strange to Warren to feel his own arm across the back of Remy's nape, his own leg trapping Remy's. Sinking into feeling someone pressed close even if that someone was male and bound to hurt him as badly as he could. It was the human contact Gambit needed beyond anything else, and it was the one thing he had been denied beyond his capacity to bear, beyond logic and reason into inciting violence. Something he wanted enough, craved like a drug, to provoke an enemy to attack in order to get it. Needing it enough to take whatever bloody cost his body would have to bear.

Gambit's hair smelled of cedar, of expensive cologne, the rangy body too thin, the need pouring off him so sad, so profoundly sad, that Warren wasn't sure how to react. Lonely, isolated, a man who craved company and physicality enough to welcome it no matter what form it came in.

Remy felt his hesitation, knew what he'd given away, that Warren was going to let him up and walk away feeling pity... he no longer gave a damn who knew it, he needed... all he'd felt for weeks was the gnawing ache of that need unfulfilled until he was crazy with it, had to either to have it or just die, stop breathing, stop wanting... Quick and supple as a weasel he twisted under Warren's momentarily inattentive arm so it came to bear again across the top of his chest, something fatalistic and determined in his exotic eyes burning across the few inches that separated them.

That was surprising enough, but then his hands came up and grabbed hold of Warren's head and Warren realized his mistake - one flip of those deceptively fine-boned wrists would snap his neck. But what Remy did was more astonishing to them both than even that would have been.

The Cajun cocked his head and dove in for Warren's mouth with his own, taking what he needed so much in a single bruising kiss, using the stunned freeze of Worthington's surprise to stroke his tongue across the pale blue lips and curve as much of his body as he could into the powerful torso still pressing him back against the tree. Golden hair thick and warm between his fingers, a hot human mouth to be free upon, to glide his lips across, Dieu, why did he have this weakness for the touch of humankind when he was ever despised by them? Was it his fate forever to come begging after his need to his enemies? Prideless, addicted, pitiful...

When he broke back to breathe, Warren's eyes were wide as dinner plates, his mouth an astonished O.

Warren Worthington was as disconcerted as he could ever remember being, his mouth bruised against LeBeau's teeth, tingling, fury bursting into a conflagration inside him that the bastard would insult him so defiantly. Remy had always been full of surprises, but this was... just too much!

Remy waited, dredged up a cynical grin, fully expecting Warren to leave him a bloody broken mess on the ground. Blue eyes stared hard back at him, equal parts fury and bewilderment and... something else.

Warren's forearm dragged up Remy's chest to lay across his throat, and Remy figured he'd maybe choke him to death or something. And maybe he didn't care if he did, maybe dying would be alright. If anyone deserved the honor of ending this thief's miserable life, Warren did.

"S'aright... do it." Gambit murmured, hands low and still, giving Warren his vengeance of his own free will and Warren hissed, astonished to understand the intent burning in those demonic eyes - how could a demon's eyes look so near tears? Make him feel like he'd attacked a defenseless child rather than the formidable foe he knew him to be? Close quarters were Remy's forte, there was no way he couldn't have broken free had he intended to, thus obviously he did not intend to. Had never intended to.

That need to be touched or to die, either one acceptable in the tattered mess of his life, was why he'd invited this conflict, and why he'd chosen Warren to pit himself against. Someone Gambit figured he owed, pain for pain, someone who'd never had any use for him and shouldn't feel much guilt if he took his life. Maybe dying would be alright.

"My God, you're insane..." Warren whispered, horrified beyond wondering why he knew Remy's mind so certainly.

It would be an ironic justice, it would be a balancing of the scales, and Warren was tempted so strongly to give LeBeau that death he was asking for that he couldn't understand why he didn't. Why he found something in his chest melting, something almost grieving running through his mind that he knew Remy wasn't causing. Sympathy - how can I feel sympathy for him after the agony he's caused me? Why do I give a shit for the ancient sorrows pouring out of those devil eyes, the yawning yearning emptiness...

Gambit stared back, no fight and no fear, only waiting to see what he would do and half-hoping it would be fatal.

Warren's arm came away from his chest, but Remy stayed against the oak, regretting Worthington's humanity as he never had before. He'd wanted it over without realizing it himself until just a second ago, and he'd let Worthington see it, a man who would never of his own volition give him anything he wanted, a man who would take great vindictive glee in seeing him denied. Even death, even something he wanted to do? Mortified, he felt the sting of tears in his eyes.

"You thought..." Warren said quietly, peering intently into the beautiful angled face, lush featured and fine, "You thought I'd kill you? You wanted me to?"

Gambit made no reply, but the fire was gone from his eyes, that bit of kindled spirit was gone and Warren knew a pure moment of such regret that he didn't understand it himself. Without knowing what he was going to do, without knowing what outcome the infuriating urge to comfort would result in, he leaned in to Gambit and returned the kiss that had been meant to incite him to violence with a tenderness he barely knew himself capable of. For a moment Remy's shock was gratifying, melding into wonder and, as Warren's mouth remained on him, as Warren's tongue reciprocated the invitation he himself had just made with vulgar disdain, he slanted his head and opened his mouth and moaned without hearing himself when Worthington accepted and entered.

Warren's fingers tangled in his hair, pulled his head to one side so he could explore the mouth opened under his, male and strange but as erotic as any woman he'd ever kissed, peppery and wet and hot as if an electrical current ran through it. His other arm curved around the long sinuous back, hand angled down to flatten on Remy's surprisingly delicate tailbone, one powerful thigh working it's way between the Cajun's. By his twitches and gasps Gambit was more stunned than Warren had been himself, that was a satisfaction of sorts, though he didn't know where this would go until Remy's long thighs closed around his leg, until the Cajun rose up enough to press his groin against Warren's hip, until his hard slinky body closed the distance between them from thigh to shoulder and he was quivering, his hands crossing behind Warren's waist, holding on. Holding tight.

Had he been truly as capable of cruelty as he believed, Warren would have done the cruel thing that crossed his mind as he broke his mouth away from Remy's. Would have left the Cajun panting and erect and heart hammering in the belief that this would be given to him, the need for touch fed even by his enemy. That fear was razor-keen in Remy's face, but Warren could no more leave him now than any of the legion of Remy's lovers could have left him once this heat opened up. He was surprised by how much he wanted the beautiful shameless body against him, the dark eyes heavy-lidded, mouth parted and hungry and that hunger flooding from every pressure point the Acadian held hard and passionate against him. Lust poured off the Cajun edged with a desperation Warren was astonished to find endearing.

And so Warren Worthington, never a man drawn to men, never a man to indulge in dangerous impulse, was drawn in, and indulged the dangerous impulse that was Remy LeBeau. Never his friend, never trusted, never sought, and yet now his hands ran up the long warm back under that battered leather duster, traced down the furrowed spine down into the waist of his jeans and the smooth velvety curves that fit into his palms like they were made to.

Remy laid himself against Warren like a hot liquid, Warren's wings quivered and half-unfurled at the heat the man against him was generating, auburn head falling back and the angles of his handsome face in the gray dawn a rapture inciting to see. Warren fell into the dream, tasted Remy's mouth deeply, sensuously, lips and teeth and tongue all at urgent play. Then he tasted skin, licked down the long proud neck and up again, nuzzled beneath the cool fragrant slide of hair and took a delicate ear-lobe in his teeth, ran a feathered point into it's shell-like curves until the beautiful young tom-cat body rubbed and writhed and pressed and the rasping whiskey-molasses slurry of patois tumbled out of him in hot murmurs and breathless coaxing moans...

Warren Worthington was as heterosexual as a man could get, loved women's bodies, women's mouths, breasts - oh, he loved breasts, had a real thing for nipples... Remy's immediately got hard against his tongue through the thin T-shirt as he sucked at first one and then the other, the Cajun's long fingers bit into his shoulders, his teeth clamped shut as he hissed and shivered like he was being burned.

Blue hands sliding under that shirt, Remy shrugging out of his duster with one hastily eloquent roll of his shoulders, the shirt being pulled over his head and his hair tumbling out of it like frayed silk, soft as a whisper on Warren's face as he dropped the shirt to his feet. Blue hands sliding on golden skin, blue fingers tracing the strange territory of a masculine chest, glossy hair in a striking pattern, like a bird rising, winging across the top of his pectorals, narrowing tail disappearing into the low-slung jeans.

Warren Worthington was an excellent lover of women, appreciated their sounds and moves and smells, he didn't understand why the hair on that chest and the small coppery nipples drew him like a boy discovering sex for the first time. Remy never shut up and it was the first time he was glad of it, the soft vibrations of his voice, the hitch and sigh of his breath like hot sensuous blues music caressing into his ears, coiling like steam, like fire, around his brain. The sounds of a man in passion, not a woman, the feel of a man's thin-skinned bones and tight-woven muscles coming back at him with equal ardor. He was shocked to know he had an erection that could drive nails, and so did Gambit.

When Warren's hand slipped down and cupped Remy's crotch so firmly he rose up onto his toes with something approximating a growl, Remy commenced to show him how different sex with a man was. Hands on him, strong and demanding, long clever fingers slipping Warren's shirt-buttons like a magician and a reciprocation of attentions in a sudden rich wet drawing suck on blue nipples. Warren Worthington felt like every drop of blood in his body shot into his cock, which was connected by lightening to Remy's mouth. The bare edges of teeth, the flat drift and pointed circle of tongue, poetic and erotic and Warren stood rigid while Remy tasted his blue skin with an appetite that was almost frightening.

The Acadian was pure erotic skill in every touch, warm breath cooling flesh he had made hot and wet, exquisite lips dragging down across shivering blue skin, a delicate tongue-tip circling then pushing into his navel. He shivered, he quaked as Remy set his talents for sex loose on Warren's flesh until he knew even with his eyes closed that Remy was on his knees in front of him, and why. Transfixed with the force of a lust that would have to be expressed, he trembled and shook in a dry rattle of pinions at the feel of Remy's knuckles brushing against his stomach as he finessed the button of his pants open, took the zipper tongue between delicate fingertips and drew the fly of Warren's pants open. Long hands slid a knowing and graceful trail down Warren's thick-muscled back, fingers spidering around his hips in a motion so smooth Warren was shocked when he felt his cock bounce free. Not so shocked as when Remy's mouth surrounded his turgid flesh with heat, with lips and sliding tongue and scraping teeth... and sucked.

The echo of Warren's cry disappeared into the trees, his wings stood wide and trembling as if in raptured flight, his fingers tangled in the silken ribbons of Remy's hair, the fine shape of his skull hard under his palms as Remy's head moved... like he was creating a work of art, the Cajun moved, his mouth humming and sparking around Warren's cock like he was in love. That was the feeling that undid Warren entirely, that trashed years of animosity... never after this moment could he hate Remy LeBeau, likely never look at him again without getting hard to remember this fine beautiful mouth doing such incredible things to his cock and his hands, not like a woman's, knowing so much more than a woman could, reaching, grasping, probing, stroking across that spot behind his testicles and made his teeth clench. The tall blue body bowed an upreaching arch, wings rising hard and close together, high, face upturned to the dawn he could not see in the wood he could not hear. Every sense was dedicated to the slow stroke of Remy's tongue, the hot lines drawn from each clever fingertip on his skin. It was beautiful like nothing had ever been beautiful, different in its power and intensity than any woman he'd ever been with. He couldn't breathe, felt himself racing toward explosion but there was one part of him that knew there was more and wanted it all.

With a deep moan of supreme effort Warren pulled Remy's head away from his hard-standing penis by one hand fisted in the glossy fall at the back of his head. He looked down at him, gorgeous dishevelment and mouth swollen and starving, glowing ruby eyes burning like he was white-hot inside, dying of wanting.

Once Warren Worthington would have taken great pleasure in denying this disreputable reprobate anything he wanted that badly, just so he'd know a fraction of the agony he'd endured in the Moorlock tunnels and for so long after. His fingers tightened in Remy's hair until it had to hurt, yet he took it without a sound, exotic eyes blazing, heat coming in a frantic burst from his long reaching fingers on Warren's hips.

"Don' stop now ?" He said breathlessly, desperately, as near to begging as Warren had ever heard, and it was more than sex to him, Warren knew it, it was so much more complicated than that.

With the ferocity of something wild and ravenous released from confinement, Warren knotted his fist at the back of Remy's head and pulled him up, took his fine masculine mouth ravenously, tasted blood from Remy's lip and locked the strong lanky body against him with crushing power. He could be fierce with a man, rough and forceful and Remy gave it right back to him, he could never have held a woman so tight without hurting her and he exalted in the unprecedented strength of the arms that held him back. Bones and muscles immediate under LeBeau's thin smooth skin, the sensation of chest hair against his own hairless chest the most peculiar eroticism he'd ever known. Lips slid and sucked, caught and released only for the pleasure of taking again, tongues stroking, thrusting and withdrawing.

In the quiet morning their shuddering gasps rose with the mist, the ground was wet and neither noticed as Warren put Remy down hard on his back and lay across him, driving his tongue into the other man's mouth, and having it taken in a delerious suction. Blue fingers tore authoritatively down the buttons on blue jeans, worked under the small of Remy's back for the waistband and yanked them down off the small compact hips swallowing the shuddering moan of pleasure. A blue hand threaded hard through the tail of coppery hair threading down the middle of Remy's tight rippled stomach, pressed down the elegant symmetry of his groin, fingernails combing through the soft thicket at Remy's crotch. Sliding up onto an impressively large erection with such force that Gambit's knees jerked under the thigh Warren had thrown across them, he swore breathlessly, said something desperate that Warren couldn't understand and didn't need to.

Almost savagely he stroked the velvety hardness from base to tip and back again, a man knew what a man liked and he fisted a firm slide up and down Remy's cock as if it were his own, feeling every squeeze and jolt and pulse. Liberating to be so demanding, to have the demand met and returned, they strained against each other, bones and muscles and clinging skin grinding together. Warren used his tongue in Remy's mouth to mimic the motion his hand was making until the Cajun's heels and shoulders drove into the ground and he broke his mouth away, face an agony of erotic overload. His head fell back and Warren's teeth grazed down the long throat and latched hard onto a pebbled nipple. Remy's palms slapped down onto the ground beside his writhing hips, fingers splayed wide and hard as he thrust up with a low bone-deep groan and came into Warren's hand so hard it was like dying.

As he lay there, blindly shuddering, gasping, pulsing, generating heat like a furnace, Warren finally laid himself over him, breath hissing through his teeth at the sensation of Remy's naked body, sultry hot and twitching, under him. Of his cock grinding into the unyielding body of a man, no layer of softness but body to body in a way somehow more immediate, more primal than with a woman. He felt himself enlarging, getting harder as his hips circled to increase the sensation in a rhythmic rub. He tongued the vulnerable hollow of Remy's throat, drank in the sound of his rasping breaths, the violent hammering of his heart, and he forced Remy's long thighs apart and fit himself between them, ever moving. As he kissed the Cajun past breathless, he dragged his hands down Remy's sides, down his hips and flanks, then he took his lips away and dragged his body down Remy's. He'd never done this, but he knew how it was done and by now he wanted to fuck Remy so badly that he would've dug a hole in him with his rock-hard cock if there hadn't been one he could get into. But there was.

He slicked himself, closing his eyes in rapture at the feeling of his hand slippery on his own cock before he came back down and ran it up the crease of Remy's compact little ass. Laid the Cajun open under him, looked down at the long stretch of houndish body, head backflung and the winged rise of hair on his heaving flat-muscled chest glowing amber in the golden morning. He could see the hammer of his heart where his ribs lifted and hollowed his body, could feel it under his hands thundering through him. He gripped Remy hard at the bend of hip and torso, pulled him high and tight against him, slowly ground himself in a blunt and profoundly satisfying rhythm until the tip of his cock lodged against the tight ring of muscle. Remy shuddered as he slowly pressed in, gasped, his fingers clawed flat against the ground. "Tout beau..." Remy gasped, "not so fast!" Warren waited, enjoying the sight, the incredible heat, half wondering how he would ever get into so tight a place.

Then the Cajun undulated his hips, "Oooooo..." Loving it, wanting it, Warren closed his eyes and his hands tightened as he held himself still against the hot wash of sensation from Remy of being opened, entered. Mesmerized, he pushed in small hunching increments, slow for their mutual pleasure, deeper and deeper and Remy moaned softly at every thrust. So fucking tight... Warren wasn't sure he hadn't said that out loud, the sensation was exquisite beyond any grasp he'd ever had around his cock, astonishing, a thing of greedy wonder. Finally he struck a spot in Remy that made the Cajun exclaim something urgently in French and stiffen, his body gripping around him. The golden body started moving and Warren froze in an extremity of pleasure as the Cajun began to work himself on Warren's cock. Warren held on and let him, because every move Remy made was better than the last. God, his face, the naked passion in his panting mouth and down-drawn brows, fine princely angles and hollows. Warren reached for Remy's wrists and the Cajun gripped his in return, used it to pull himself in tighter, taking Warren as deep as he could go with a low keening cry.

Warren jerked and moaned as Remy shuddered and panted through clenched teeth, he had to thrust, had to ride this huge feeling, and the meeting of their opposing drives put him deeper still. Red eyes opened and Warren caught them with his own, avid for every reaction to every thrust that jarred into Remy, and Remy gave him everything he wanted and more, always more. Let him see it and hear it and... God, even FEEL it, the dueling sensations of fucking and being fucked tangling into a rising chaos.

"Oui, mais oui, oh, oh, oh..." Low breathless cries now met every pistoning move of Warren's hips as he slammed himself in a mercilessly urgent rhythm into the scalding clasp of Remy's body, a man erotic in every inch and sound and move, it was hard to tell who was fucking who and it didn't matter, nothing mattered but getting there, getting... THERE.

He hilted himself viciously in Remy's body and screamed like an animal as his semen shot out of his cock in a pulsing flood, feeling Remy coming against his stomach as he ground himself, hips off the earth, up into Warren with a long low moaning quiver. Blinding, his head felt like it was exploding, almost painfully intense.

For a few minutes neither of them knew or cared beyond sucking breath into laboring lungs, but each felt the other's body close in that moment, draped and tangled and sweetly companionable. Warren's wings swept spasmodically back and forth as if he were coming in for a landing, and the breeze fluttered the auburn hair off Remy's face. He sighed and relaxed under Warren completely, eyes closed and a Mona Lisa smile of sated bliss as those pure white wings cooled his sweating body... "Now 'dat's handy..." Warren dropped his forehead onto Remy's, a chuckle surprising him, breath bursing in slowing pants against each other's faces, blue forearms bracketing the Cajun's head.

Remy said so quietly Warren heard him less than felt the vibration of his voice in his chest, "Nobody gladder n' Remy you got 'dem back, homme..." Thieves hands long and wicked clever rising in a languid tremble to lightly smooth the leading feathers on the arch of bone near Warren's shoulders, such love in the touch, such regret. Giving that to Warren, too, not asking for forgiveness or expecting it, just giving him the sorrow and guilt for having caused the horror Warren had gone through even inadvertently.

"Dey so beautiful, want'd t'touch 'em d'first time, me. Always want t'touch 'em and nev' dared. Makes 'dis t'ief's heart glad t'see y'fly, Ange, on 'dem beautiful wings."

Unasked, unexpected, perhaps making it easier to give. Warren forgave Remy at last, let the remnants of bitterness go into the morning and took his thief into the lightening sky on those beautiful wings.

END


End file.
